Because Of You
by Onomatopeia Jones
Summary: The death of Esther Jacobs as seen through the eyes of her three children. A threeshot. Based on the Kelly Clarkson & Reba version of 'Because Of You.' [Complete]
1. Sarah

Because of You:

A Jacobs Family Fic

I knelt by my mother's grave. She'd passed a week before. I'd stood there in my black mourning clothes, my eyes downcast and slightly wet as was expected of me. It was nice, as far as funerals go; it was simple and small, just like she would've wanted.

I laid a flower I'd bought off one of the girls on the street on the headstone; I could hear her tsk-tsking about wasting my hard-earned money. There were some things that I hadn't been able to say before she died. I know what you're thinking, and no, I do not mean anything along the lines of "I miss you; I love you. I wish we could've been closer." I did not think any of those things about her. That woman had been the devil in a skirt. I calmly expressed what I wished to express.

"Mother, I know I was a disappointment to you. I was nothing like you, and that upset you tremendously. I wanted, I want, more out of life than marrying a nice Jewish man who owns a prosperous Jewish business to support our Jewish babies. You chose that life, and look where it got you! I refuse to let myself cause my heart such misery as you caused yours. You and Papa were never in love. That's why he had an affair with that little doe-eyed harlot. You tried to be the perfect Jewish wife and mother, and look where it got you! You really want that for me? I'd tell you my dreams when I was young, and you'd shake your head and say 'Oh, Sarah, a nice Jewish girl only dreams of making a family with a nice Jewish boy.' You wouldn't even let me dream! You wouldn't even let me imagine life outside of the Jewish section of Manhattan! I learned from you to not let my dreams get as far as my heart. Now, because of you, I keep my head down and I keep away from the curb when I deliver my lace. I learned to dream only where no one else could see me so I wouldn't have them crushed. Now, I find myself suspicious of everyone and uncertain of myself," I said, anger boiling in my heart. "BECAUSE OF YOU!" I yelled, startling myself with my own voice. I heard someone sobbing loudly. It took me a moment to realize who was crying: Me.


	2. Davey

I stand looking down at the headstone, reading 'Esther Jacobs, July 25, 1855-April 18, 1900.'

That is all it says. No "May she rest in peace," no "Beloved wife and mother."

I guess they don't want a lie written in stone for future generations to see.

My mother was anything but beloved. She was a mean, manipulative old bat. She was a nag. She was any number of unpleasant things you can think of.

She was always right.

Especially when I was wrong, she was right. I remember teling her about what I'd learned in school, and she'd stand there, undoubtedly cooking something, listening patiently. then she'd say, "No, no, David. You're getting it jumbled." I probably was wrong, but she didn't need to focus on what was wrong about me! She kept me under her thumb- I didn't breathe without her saying, "Oh, David, you're doing it wrong. Here, do it this way." I could do no right! And there she was, waiting for me to mess up because it wasn't done her way. I remember her looking over a project that I'd work so hard on, and telling me. "Eh. Could be improved."

I blink back tears as I remember how I was ever good enough. But of course I can't cry. Only weak girls cry, and I am a strong man. I was allowed to smile and laugh- I was expected to smile and laugh- I was allowed to be annoyed or angry, but not sad. Never sad. I finally break down and cry hot, bitter, angry tears, just to spite her. An old widow who passes me assumes I am crying because of a broken heart. She comes over and puts what she intends to be a comforting hand on my shoulder and squeezes gently. I smile at her, and she smiles back and leaves me.

Ha.

Me, a broken heart?

Nah. Couldn't be.

Never had a whole one to start with.


	3. Les

Papa doesn't know I'm here. I'm supposed to be in school. I don't care, though. I want to see you, Mama.

I'm scared and confused. I followed Davey and Sarah, and they both were so angry with you. Why?

I miss you, Mama. I remember when I was little and you were so bright and happy, like the sunflowers Mrs. Derkowitz had on her fire escape. But...but then you got sick...and the sunshine went out of you. I hated seeing you so sick. I just wanted to make you better. I did everything I could make you better. But you didn't get better. It's...it's my fault. Sarah and Davey and Papa say it's not, but it is. I couldn't save you. I would hear you cry at night, and I would want to make you not sad, but I couldn't figure out how. I'm sorry for crying now, Mama. I know you need me to be strong for you. I have to be strong for everybody. Sarah says you couldn't get over how sad you were about Papa's friend Dixie. I don't understand...why was it wrong for Papa to be friends with Dixie? She's...she's pretty...and I like her. She's real smiley all the time, and she makes Papa smile. I never seen him smile so much before he was friends with Dixie. Is that why you got sick? 'Cause Papa was friends with Dixie? That's a dumb reason to get sick. Oh! Sorry! Sorry, Mama. I didn't mean it. You're not dumb. You were just sick. You couldn't help it. You needed me to be there...I couldn't go out and play stickball with my friends cause you needed me. I couldn't ask you for help cause you needed me to be your helper. Please forgive me, but I...I cry at night, like you did. I don't mean to, but I do. Sarah says to forget you, but...but I can't. I try so hard, but I can't. I can't talk to Jack or Race or any of those guys, either, cause what if they need me to be strong for them, too? I can't give them my troubles when they've got all of their own, and besides...they probably don't want to hear my sad. They've got their own, and...you never wanted to hear my sad. You only wanted my happy. I try hard to be an angel, but I can't. I'm not one. I'm just...Les. Less. I'm sorry. I don't got a whole lot since you went up to heaven. I tried hard, but I can't be more than Les.


End file.
